Prose Overdose
by HaveYouBeenAnAlumnus
Summary: Mistoffelees simply wants to go for a walk, but there is a problem: the writer seems to suffer from Verbosity, a very common disease among writers... (Written for my second fanfiction-birthday)


**A/N:** So, last year I wrote this story called 'Macavity's Victory' for my one-year anniversary on this website. That was a lot of fun to do, and you folks seemed to enjoy it as well. Well, this year I'm back with another story, because guess what? Today is my second anniversary! Yay!

Before I start, I want to thank a few people:

 **Gaybaconprincess:** (I know this isn't your fandom, but I hope you read this anyway) It's funny how accidentally I met you. I was just sitting in my room and I thought 'Hey, I feel like reading a story about my new favorite Teen Titans character' And so I accidentally found 'Diversity' and loved it from the very first chapter. I loved it so much that I started reading your other stories, and we soon started talking. I want to say thank you for all the fun conversations we had, the hours of joy your stories have brought me, and the kind reviews you have given me. In fact, you were the one that motivated me and gave me inspiration to write a Kyd Wykkyd story. If anyone ever tells me you can't make friends on the internet, I'll prove them wrong.

 **Razell:** Probably my oldest friend on this site, you were one of my first reviewers, and your support continues to this day. I know life hasn't been easy for you, and even though I don't know the details, I am very aware of it. But I do hope you are better now or that it will get better at least. I just want to thank you once again, as I have done many times before, for being such a pleasant person.

 **Everyone in the Cats-fandom:** Thank you for contributing to such a wonderful fandom, whether you post stories or reviews to show your support. Also, special thank you to those of you who have continued to support me, including (but not limited to) Alexandra Elf/jelliclemelodies, WaitingformyMunkustrap and many more. I thank all of you for keeping this fandom alive.

 **Also, special thanks to Andrew Lloyd Webber for making this possible because there really wouldn't be any fanfics if he hadn't created the piece of art that is Cats.**

So, after this cheesy stuff, let's get to what you probably came here for: the story. (Warning: some long sentences and smart (read 'unnecessarily complicated') words in this story)

oo0O0oo

 **Prose Overdose**

It was one of those days where the sun doesn't seem to be able to decide whether it's going to shine or not, so it just decides to shine without giving any warmth. After a foggy morning, the sky is relatively clear, but the air is moist and cold, even when standing in the sunlight. It was on one of those days that Mistoffelees, the original Conjuring Cat, decided to take what pseudo-intellectual felines would later call a 'Jellicle trip', but was at the time no more than a hike, or rather, a walk, or, dare I say it, a stroll. In short, it meant that he would be leaving the relative safety the cast iron fences of his beloved home that was the Jellicle Junkyard brought with them and swap it out for the intense stimulae the capital of the United Kingdom had to offer with its constant flow of traffic and the voices of almost nine million people singing in a dissonant harmony like a choir of mundaneness. Strange though, since Misto was not generally the one an average Jellicle would expect to go on such an adventure – which is, of course, a big word for such a small stroll, but it is however considered irregular for Jellicle Cats to abandon the comfort of their dens for purposes other than the annual festivity of the Jellicle Ball –, instead opting for the more obvious cats known for their adventurous or curious nature, including the known example of Jemima, who would often wander off without approval of her father to see what the world beyond the fences had to offer. However, that day Misto decided to neglect the 'curiosity killed the cat' nature of his Jellicle blood and instead take a breath of fresh air in the nearest park, choosing for a green-colored space to minimalize the amount of bad-reeking gasses and unpleasant vibrations penetrating his nose and eardrums respectively. However, this would heighten the probability of him running into a human walking with their dog on a leash, or even without the leash, to spend their Sunday afternoon letting their pet chase branches or plastic discs, but this was of little concern to him, as he had been known to be quite able to defend himself against possible canine foes – or feline, for that matter (note that this comment is by no means meant to allude to the rather villainous nature of his biological father).

It was at this moment that I noticed I had spent 407 words explaining that Misto was going for a walk in the park, and that the reader would probably be bored senseless by the time they finished that unnecessarily long piece of text, and so I decided to get on with the story.

Anyway, aside from all that, Misto finally left the Junkyard through a tight hole that was just large enough to fit a Jennyanydots through, but definitely wasn't nearly large enough for a Bustopher Jones to pass. The aforementioned hole could be found in the lower right (or lower left if one was standing outside the fences) of one of the sections of said fence, on the east side of the Junkyard. The hole was commonly used by Jellicles who entered or left the labyrinth of garbage they called home, and was covered by a steel plate when not in use to stop any possible curious Pollicles from finding their way in. On a rare occasion, an alien cat (possibly a housecat or just a rogue, or even a cat from a different tribe) would decide to investigate the hole and would likely walk in on a couple of Jellicles enjoying a little catnap, or if it was winter, some kittens playing in the snow. However, it was autumn at the moment, so a wandering stranger would find no more than junk, since Jellicles prefer to stay indoors during times like this, because the one thing that makes autumn pleasant (the warm-colored leaves carpeting the ground) was a rarity in this location, a logical consequence of the lack of trees in the area. However, as previously mentioned, Misto decided to go on a stroll anyways.

Wow, I just spent another 234 words saying Misto left the Junkyard through a hole. I should try to focus my attention on the important details of a story.

As Mistoffelees exited the Junkyard through the hole, a breeze caressed his nose, and he couldn't help but notice a tempting scent of fish being carried on the winds, an almost sea-ish mix of seabass, halibut, salmon and just the slightest hint of prawn in a creamy sauce. He had not eaten since that morning, no more than a small mouse, before he had gone to his usual secluded area he liked to call his sanctuary, where he would practice his magic for hours on end, knowing that the chances of anyone finding him were roughly the same as the chances of Macavity suddenly returning to the Junkyard, apologizing for everything he did and asking for forgiveness. Now, hours after that last meal, Mistoffelees had been tired of exercising and that had been the main motivation behind his decision to take this walk, but the soft scent of delicious fish made his stomach urge him to head into the opposite direction of where he had planned to go, the nearest park, and instead head down the street to the fish restaurant every Jellicle knew was there because Bustopher Jones frequented it and was not afraid to praise the quality of their dishes – especially their 'Paling in 't groen' – in front of the entire tribe. However, Misto was not here to eat, and so he forced himself to look the other way, where he was meant to go.

Yes, indeed, where he was _meant_ to go instead of wasting the reader's attention span. What exactly was the point of this whole sequence anyway? To clarify that he _didn't_ go to eat fish?

ANYWAY, so he headed down the street after taking a last breath of that deliciously fishy air, walking past several humans in the process of doing so. Rare was the kind of man that caught Misto's attention, most just looking like the kind of man who spent his days from eight to five at his office in an insurance company, or perhaps a corporation that manufactured umbrella's or vacuum cleaners, after which they would return home to their wives complaining she always had to pick up the kids at school, to which he would reply that he couldn't get off from work any earlier before he got that much needed promotion. Now, of course, the wife asks when he will get said promotion, to which he will reply that his boss told him he would get it within three months, that they betray him, that they didn't keep their promise, that they trick him and that he doesn't care anymore. So, in short, a mid-life crisis grey sheep with a briefcase. That was mostly the kind of men Mistoffelees encountered on his journey down the street that didn't have a delicious fish restaurant in it.

Somewhere close to a street which Mistoffelees only knew because there was a shop that sold conjuring items, after turning a corner where the entire sidewalk seemed to be filled with plastic bags of garbage, his heart dropped when he saw a pit bull that was roughly the size of a medium-sized pit bull which was looking at a spot somewhere across the road where a blackbird, which was sitting on a bench next to an elderly woman who looked suspiciously like Betty White, but probably wasn't, who was looking in her leather purse for mints, probably, or perhaps for some sort of tissue, because the bench she shared with the blackbird, whose presence she didn't seem to notice, was not the cleanest thing in the world, as it was covered with leaves, plastic packings and excrement that could have been from the blackbird, but probably wasn't, was making loud noises, catching the attention of both the dog and it's owner, a man in his mid to late thirties who looked like he had just been woken up after sleeping for several days, but probably hadn't, but all of this didn't exactly work out too negative for the main protagonist of this story, who, as you know, is the beloved Jellicle Cat Mistoffelees, who had feared that he would have to get past the dog on his way down the street and, as you know, cats aren't particularly fond of dogs, but now the pit bull was seemingly intrigued by the avian creature and seemed to be so much interested in it that he decided to leave the side of the road Misto was on and cross the road to get to the other side, pulling hard at the leash to convince the human organism he had behind him to follow him, but that proved to be rather unnecessary, seeing how the aforementioned man looked like he would follow anything that pulled him in any direction, even if that direction featured spinning blades or fiery pits of doom, or, as was the case now, an old lady on a bench with a blackbird by her side, which was actually not really the case anymore, because after seeing the pit bull, the bird had taken off into the air, causing the dog to wildly jump up in futile attempts to catch it while barking as loud as he possibly could bark.

And then…

Then…

Excuse me for one second.

oo0O0oo

"Yes?"

"Good day doctor."

"Ah, HaveYouBeenAnAlumnus. How are you?"

"Not too well. I seem to be having a writing problem at the current moment, as the readers might have noticed by now."

"What's wrong? Writer's block again? I thought I gave you pills for that?"

"Yes, and those pills worked very well. I finally updated a story I hadn't updated in five months. ( **A/N:** True story) But I think they might have had an unwanted side effect."

"And that would be?"

"I use too many words to describe simple things that could be explained in three words, I write unnecessarily long sentences, I use words nobody uses in their everyday life, I mention all the unnecessary details that don't add to the story, and as you see, even now I am creating a sentence that's way too long for what I have to say!"

"Hm. Are you sure about these symptoms?"

"Yes! I wrote an entire block of text consisting of exactly 400 words, and it was ALL ONE SENTENCE! And I didn't even tell anything interesting! That's when I decided to give up on the story and come see you."

"Hm. I think I know what's wrong. Say, you wouldn't happen to have taken an overdose of those Writer Deblockers I gave you, would you?"

"…"

"Well? Did you go over the prescription of two pills a day?"

"Well I just really wanted to finish that chapter!"

"Hm. Well, it seems you have Verbosity."

"Verbosity?"

"Yes. It's a very common disease among writers. Many famous writers had it. Even some in the ancient times. Think of Pliny the Younger, who had periods in his life where he suffered from it, especially around the time with that volcano. But he, as many of the famous examples, managed to turn it into something good."

"Can I do that as well?"

"No."

"Oh. "

"I think it's best if you just try your best to limit your sentences to the least possible words."

"Okay, so the story so far would be 'Mistoffelees wanted to go for a walk outside the Junkyard. He went out. He smelled fish, but despite the fact that it smelled delicious and that he had not eaten since that moment when…"

"Slipping into it again."

"Sorry. 'He resisted the urge to go eat fish and went straight for the park. On his way, he saw some boring people and a scary dog, but luckily the dog crossed the road before seeing Misto.' Better that way?"

"See? What was that, like, 50 words? That's a lot better than the previous 1500 words it took you to write basically the same thing."

"But… What's the fun in that? I mean, who would want to read a story where things are just blatantly said without any flesh around it? Who would ever have read The Lord of the Rings if the entire story was written in 200 words? And more importantly, how would they have made nine hours' worth of movies about it?"

"Well, HaveYouBeenAnAlumnus," said the doctor as he put his arm around my shoulder, clearly about to start a philosophical closing to this story, "I may not be an expert on writing, but what I do know is that reading is about experiencing the story. About being immersed into a world of awe, wonder, and sometimes terror. But whether you do that in very few words, or in lengthy, descriptive texts…"

"Yes?"

"You still suck at writing."

"You better stop insulting me or I'll stop writing your character."

"You wouldn't dare to do th

oo0O0oo

 **A/N:** Well I hope you enjoyed this because it sure was a mixed experience for me, hah!

(I think I'll make a tradition out of writing some sort of meta-story every year for the twentieth of February.)

In all seriousness, thank you for supporting me throughout the two years I've been on this site. It's truly been a wonderful part of my life sharing my stories with you. Here's for plenty more years to come!


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